


like real people do

by cedarmoons



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 100 PERCENT LINCTAVIA WOO, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Rare Pairings, Tumblr Prompt, fake engagement au, love it when these babies aren't a side pairing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-04 11:53:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4136490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cedarmoons/pseuds/cedarmoons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Octavia looks at him with something like guilt in her eyes. “You know how my brother’s getting married next week? Yeah… Mom just found out I don't have a plus one.” | fake engaged!linctavia</p>
            </blockquote>





	like real people do

**Author's Note:**

> directly inspired by the prompt; “you need a plus-one for your brother’s wedding so i’m going as a favor but there’s been a misunderstanding and now your whole family thinks we’re engaged"
> 
> also, i have never been to a wedding. i looked up a timeline for a wedding reception. i am 200% qualified to write this.

_come to mcds asap. very important!!!_

Lincoln checks over the text again and half-smiles to himself before he pushes the door open and enters the college town McDonald’s. Octavia’s waiting in a nearby booth, foot tapping against the floor, but she jumps up when she sees him. “Thank God you’re here,” she says. The distress in her voice makes him frown slightly. Octavia’s texts are always vague—she could have lost her socks or her sorority house could have caught on fire, she would have treated either as emergencies of equal level.

Octavia sits down in the booth and, to his surprise and worry, she starts toying with the ring on her necklace. It was a Claddagh ring she’d found in Ireland during their semester abroad, but it was too small to fit her finger properly so she used it as a necklace instead. “So,” she starts, swinging her necklace back and forth.

Lincoln forces himself to smile. She never touched her necklace unless she was truly upset. It was one of the little tells he had learned about her, along with how her eyes crinkled in the corners when she laughed, or how she bit her lip when she was lying. “Octavia, just spit it out.”

Octavia releases her necklace and grabs a fry. Instead of eating it, she looks at him with something like guilt in her eyes. “You know how my brother’s getting married?”

Lincoln straightens. “Yes. I’m not going to like this, am I?”

“No. Sorry.”

“But you’re going to do it anyway?”

Octavia pops the fry into her mouth and, after a bout of furious chewing, she swallows and says, “So… the wedding is next Saturday. Mom just found out I don’t have a plus one.”

“No,” Lincoln says, automatically. Octavia frowns at him.

“You don’t even know what I was gonna say!”

“You’re going to ask me to be your plus one. Octavia, remember how in college there are these things called finals? The finals next Monday? Which we should probably study for?”

“Key word there is _probably_ ,” she says, glancing at her fries. Sorrow crosses her face and then she pushes the fries over to his side of the table, a silent offering.

Lincoln can’t help but chuckle, a half-huffing sound that makes her wrinkle her nose at him. Lincoln grabs the fries and waits. When Octavia only frowns at him, he dares to slide it to his half of the table. “You’re giving me your fries? You must be serious.”

“You have no idea.” Octavia makes a face. “Normally Mom would be chill about this, but she’s met all of Bellamy and Clarke’s college friends and none of mine.” She pitches her voice. “Darling, this would be a perfect opportunity! I just want to meet one of your friends, just one! Your mom won’t be on this earth forever!”

Lincoln sighs, staring at her fries. Well. They’re technically his, now. “Please,” Octavia says, fiddling with her necklace again. “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate.”

“If I fail finals because of you…” he threatens, though there’s no heat in his voice. They both know he would never be able to stay mad at her. Octavia brightens.

“You won’t. I swear to God, we can leave right after the ceremony and you can study. Swear.”

“We can’t just bail out after the ceremony. Ever hear of a reception? The party with free food? Jesus, Octavia,” he teases. Octavia rolls her eyes.

“Fine by me. You’re the one who wants to study. I’ll find some other way to make it up to you, I swear. Thank you, Lincoln. You’re a lifesaver.”

Lincoln grins and starts to stand. “It’s a deal. If you’ll excuse me, I have finals I should be studying for.”

He takes the fries with him on his way out. He walks by the window with their seat and sees her, frowning at him, probably regretting her inclusion of the fries on the bargaining table. Lincoln can’t resist winking at her and raising the fries like a toast.

* * *

Lincoln stands in front of her sorority house at 10 AM, checking his watch to make sure he’s on time before he knocks. Maya Vie opens the door for him and smiles. “Hey, Lincoln, come on in. She’s still getting ready. It’s like senior prom all over again, I swear to God.”

He walks into the living room, where Harper is watching TV. Harper looks him over and gives a Cheshire smile. “Hey, Lincoln—Roma says hi,” she says, jumping off the couch and darting upstairs. “O, your hot date’s here!” she yells, and Lincoln faintly hears Octavia shout a _shut the hell_ _up, Harper_ in response.

Maya makes a face. “I’m flattered,” Lincoln tells her, unable to resist a grin. Whenever they talk to each other, Harper never fails to mention how good he looks, but she never fails to mention her girlfriend, either.

Maya settles on the couch with a soft laugh. “Octavia’s been really nervous all day,” Maya explains. “She was afraid you were going to back out at the last minute. At least we managed to clean up the living room. By the way, you’re not allowed anywhere else in the house. Sorority secrets. Girls only.”

By that she means the rest of the house is a mess, and Maya is always embarrassed when guests come over and the sorority house is less than pristine. Lincoln has been here often enough to know her hidden meanings. “I understand.”

Octavia comes down in ten minutes. Her hair is styled in an updo comprised of several elaborate curls pinned to her head and her black dress is floor-length. The only jewelry she has on is a pair of golden earrings and her Claddagh ring necklace. She clasps her clutch in one hand and looks at Harper— _she’s beautiful_ , he thinks. Harper whispers something to Octavia, who wrinkles her nose at her sorority sister and starts moving toward him.

Lincoln can’t help but smile at her when she reaches the end of the stairs. “You clean up pretty nice, Blake,” he says.

Octavia rolls her eyes and punches his arm. “You too,” she admits, scanning him before smiling and meeting his eyes. “Thanks again for doing this.”

“Shall we?” he offers, opening the door with one hand. He rests his hand on the small of her back without looking, and that’s how he finds out her dress is backless, as well. He snatches his hand away, ignoring Octavia’s questioning look as he says goodbye to her sorority sisters and shuts the door behind them.

When they’re in the car, Octavia smirks and turns on the GPS. “So what was that about?” she asks.

“I didn’t know you had a backless dress on,” he replies, not bothering to be coy. “Sorry.”

Octavia laughs. “Come on. All those times we went skinny-dipping in the campus lake with the rest of the hall, I would’ve thought a little skin didn’t scare you.”

“As far as I remember, I was too incapacitated to really remember any details,” he replies dryly. Octavia laughs again, an endearing little snicker meant to tease instead of mock, and settles in for the hour-long drive. They fill the time with smalltalk, and Lincoln eventually makes her laugh enough that she stops fiddling with her necklace.

At last, the GPS announces that _the destination is on your right_ and Octavia points to the church. “There it is,” she says. Lincoln doesn’t respond—he couldn’t miss that sky-high bell tower even if he wanted to. They pull into the parking lot and Octavia unbuckles her seatbelt, taking a deep breath.

Lincoln rests a hand on her shoulder. Half of his hand is touching black silk and the other half is touching her bare skin. “Hey. Everything will be fine,” he says.

Octavia grins at him. “I know it will. Let’s get this over with, huh?” She looks out the window and stiffens. “Shit. It’s my family. Mom at twelve o’clock.”

Lincoln follows her gaze and sees a group of middle-aged adults speaking to each other in front of the church, but the woman in the center is watching the car with a slight smile. She nudges her companions, and all of them turn to look at the car. It makes Lincoln wish the windows were tinted just a shade darker. “Stay here,” he says.

“What are you doing?” Octavia asks, but she stays put. Lincoln climbs out of the car and, pretending not to notice the family watching him, walks over to her side. He opens the door for her and offers his hand. Octavia repeats her question, her eyes darting to her family.

“Making a good impression,” Lincoln replies, holding her hand as she gets out of the car. He shuts the door behind her and this time he does place his hand on the small of her back. He locks the car and leans over to whisper in her ear. “If your mom hasn’t met any of your friends, I’d rather she think I’m a respectable medical student with worthy aspirations, rather than the starving artist you talk into doing crazy things.”

Octavia snickers despite herself. When they reach the group of adults, Octavia pulls away from Lincoln. She greets her parents in Tagalong and kisses them on the cheek, then turns back to Lincoln. “Mom, Dad, Mr. Kane, Mrs. Griffin, this is Lincoln.”

“A pleasure,” Lincoln says, shaking everyone’s hand. Mrs. Blake is smiling at him in a way that vaguely unsettles him, but there’s nothing hostile in her demeanor, so he can’t imagine what’s wrong. He decides to shrug it off.

The ceremony is beautiful, and it’s over in a little under two hours. Lincoln doesn’t really know Bellamy or Clarke all that well, but he’s happy for them. He glances at Octavia during the vows and half-smiles when he sees her eyes are wet. He faces forward again and untucks the handkerchief folded in his breast pocket, handing it to her in silence. Octavia elbows him half-heartedly—a wordless _don’t you ever bring this up_ —and dabs at her eyes.

When the ceremony is over, the guests pour out of the church to watch Bellamy and Clarke climb into the limo. They linger in the church to let Bellamy and Clarke get a head start to the reception hall, and during that time Mrs. Blake approaches him. Lincoln looks in vain for Octavia, but when he can’t find her he gives his full attention to her mother. “I’m so happy for my boy,” she confesses. “You know, I was the one who told them that they would be a cute couple. I’m something of a matchmaker in my family, if I do say so myself.”

Lincoln makes an interested noise and half-smiles, doing his best to be polite. “That tattoo on your neck is quite interesting, Lincoln,” Mrs. Blake continues, sparing him the need to scramble for a reply. “What made you decide to get it?”

“Ah—” he hesitates. “I’ve wanted a tattoo since I was eighteen. I told Octavia one day and… she convinced me to take the jump.”

The real story’s much more complicated, but what he’d told her is close enough to the truth. More importantly, it satisfies Mrs. Blake. “And how did you meet Octavia?” she asks.

This was something he could tell without omitting the details. Well, most of them. “Freshman year she fell down the stairs and hurt her leg. I helped her get to the clinic.”

“Ah, she told me about that, but she never mentioned that you were there,” Mrs. Blake says, and then she notices the stream of people leaving the church. “Well, Lincoln, I will see you at the reception. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

It’s only when she’s gone that he can find Octavia. “There you are,” she says, falling in step with him. “You have the reception hall in your GPS, right?” He nods and opens the door for her, grinning when she rolls her eyes.

The reception hall is black-and-white with red accents. Red paper lanterns hang from the ceiling. It’s only three o’clock, but the room is set up to maximize the natural sunlight, and electric candles accentuate it with soft yellow lighting. “Good luck,” Octavia says, and Lincoln nods. Before she goes to socialize, she catches his arm. “Hey. Feel free to socialize, okay? I can introduce you to some people if you’d like.”

Lincoln half-smirks. “You don’t think I can handle myself, Blake?”

Octavia lets him go, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. “I’ll bring some friends over,” she tells him. “You’ll love Raven. Trust me. You will.”

With that, she disappears to mingle with the crowd. Lincoln examines the centerpieces, artfully designed and positioned, and wonders if he’d be allowed to bring in his sketchbook inside. Before he can decide to go get it, Clarke and Bellamy arrive, to a chorus of cheers and applause. They make a brief announcement of dinner being served in an hour, but until then, people were welcome to the open bar. When the dance floor opens, they precede the dancers with a slow dance that ends with a kiss and a chorus of “aw”s.

Octavia appears at his side after the bridal party disappears for pictures, with an unfamiliar woman at her side. “Hey. I see you, looking at the front door. Resist the temptation. We’ve still got a few hours. You’re staying for the food, right?”

Lincoln half-smiles. “Did you just ask a college student if he would give up free food?”

Octavia grins. “That’s what I thought. Lincoln, this is Raven Reyes. She’s Bellamy’s friend.”

Lincoln had seen the woman in a bright red cocktail dress beside Octavia several times that night, and the prominent brace on her leg. Now that they’re being introduced he doesn’t hesitate to stick out his hand, brace forgotten. It takes only a few minutes of conversation for Raven to have both him and Octavia laughing—he thinks she’d be a fun friend, even though he’s only known her for a few minutes.

When he tells her as much, Raven gives him a ready smile. “’Course I would. I’m awesome.”

Someone calls to Raven across the room, and she waves at Lincoln before she grabs Octavia’s arm and pulls her away. Like clockwork, Mrs. Blake joins his side. “That’s a beautiful necklace my daughter has, Lincoln,” she says. “I asked Octavia about it, but she didn’t give me any details. Do you know why she wears it?”

Something about her nonchalance makes him straighten. He hides his wariness behind a charming smile. “Oh, that’s something that caught her eye when we were in Ireland together. I bought that ring for her—”

“Ah! I knew it!” Mrs. Blake says, her smile widening, and she rushes off without letting Lincoln finish. _Because she was out of money_ , he thinks, watching Mrs. Blake whisper urgently to Mrs. Griffin and Mr. Kane. Mrs. Griffin’s face lights up and she says something that looks like _congratulations_ , and Lincoln’s heart sinks. _Shit._

He can’t help but seek out Raven and Octavia again, and he goes through another round of introductions—Raven’s date, Finn, and Clarke’s oldest friend, Wells. He occupies himself with small talk, but every time he looks away from their little group he sees Mrs. Blake weaving through the crowd like she’s on an obstacle course.

Mrs. Blake even tells Bellamy, the moment the groom returns from pictures and is more than a foot away from Clarke. Octavia’s brother looks up and, when Mrs. Blake points with a delighted smile, the man looks straight at Lincoln, looking none too pleased. Lincoln stares at him until Clarke gets Bellamy’s attention, breaking whatever staring contest they were having. Lincoln sighs and turns around, crossing his arms.

Just five minutes later, Bellamy is at Octavia’s side and right next to Lincoln. “Hey, sis,” he says, kissing her cheek. He greets everyone in the small circle with a grin until he sees Lincoln. “Hey. Lincoln, right?”

Lincoln nods, and Bellamy’s smile shrinks by a hair. Lincoln can’t help but think the easygoing grin looks a bit forced. They shake hands. “I don’t know about you, but I need some fresh air,” Bellamy says, clapping Lincoln on the back with his free hand. He holds a glass of liquor in the other. “C’mon, I’m dying to know who my sister brought to the party. You mind, O?”

“Be nice,” Octavia replies, turning back to Raven and her story of ‘that time I almost blew up my senior thesis.’ Bellamy turns toward the door that leads to the smoking area. Thankfully, no one’s taken it up yet, and he and Bellamy are alone.

“So, you and my sister are here together,” Bellamy says. Lincoln’s ready to correct him, but something about the man’s tone rubs him wrong, so he stays silent. “Are you a senior?”

“Yes. Should be studying for finals, actually, but Octavia wanted me to be her plus-one.”

“She’s a sophomore.” Bellamy crosses his arms. “I know she can handle herself. I’m more worried about you.”

“Worried about me?” Lincoln repeats, raising an eyebrow. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You look a little… old for a senior. You look quite a few years older than her, actually.”

 _Jesus Christ_. Lincoln looks at the darkening sky, trying to gather his patience. “First—I’m twenty-six. Not everyone can go straight to college after high school. Second—Octavia and I are not involved. We’re friends. That’s it. Apparently her lack of a plus-one to your wedding upset your mother, so she asked me to go with her.”

Bellamy’s eyes widen. “So, then, the ring—”

“Was something that caught her eye in our semester abroad in Ireland. She was out of money, so I bought it for her. The moment we were back in the States, she paid me back.”

Bellamy says nothing for several long moments. At last he shakes his head. “Man, I’m sorry. I didn’t think Octavia would keep quiet about something like getting engaged, but…” Bellamy half-smiles and shakes his head again, letting out a Tagalong curse under his breath. “What a terrible first impression. I feel like an asshole. I should let you know—my mother has been telling _everyone_ in the family. Everyone except Octavia, I guess.”

Great. Maybe if he was drunk, he would be able to deal with this. As it is, he’s the designated driver, and he’s not selfish enough to endanger Octavia because her mother got the wrong idea about her jewelry choices. So instead of going back in and searching for the open bar, he decides to find a spot away from the Octavia’s brother.

“Thanks for the warning, Bellamy,” he says, mustering his most easygoing smile. Bellamy lets him go and he turns around, going back inside and seeking out a secluded corner of the building. Octavia is near the dance floor, catching up with a new group of young women he can only assume to be Clarke’s girlfriends. Lincoln subtly fishes his phone out of his pocket and brings up Octavia’s number.

 _ur mom thinks we’re engaged_ , he types out. He looks over his shoulder and watches Octavia. When there’s a lull in the conversation, Octavia pulls away from the group and checks her phone. Her back’s to him, so he can’t see her expression, but he can imagine it. If he wasn’t feeling so _awkward_ about the situation (he should be horrified, but he’s not, and he doesn’t want to think about why he’s not) he would have smiled.

Octavia’s reply takes seconds. _lmao what???_

Before he can reply to her text, Mr. Kane steps up to the mic to announce dinner. The guests are shown their seats, and Lincoln ends up across from to Octavia, with Clarke’s mother and stepfather right next to them. Mr. Kane is at Octavia’s side, and Mrs. Griffin is at Lincoln’s.

Lincoln only has time to get his food and sit back down before Mrs. Griffin decides to make small talk. As he sips his water, Mrs. Griffin cuts her lasagna and says, “So, Lincoln, I’m dying to know. How did you propose to Octavia?”

Lincoln almost chokes on his water. “Oh, Christ,” Octavia mutters under her breath. Her disdainful mutter makes him laugh while he’s choking. Mrs. Griffin’s brows crease together, but she doesn’t redraw her question, and by the time Lincoln recovers the whole table is staring at them.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Griffin,” Lincoln says, thankful he’s not the type to blush easily. Octavia is red as a beet, though, and trying to hide it by ducking her head and staring intently at her salad. “Your question just caught me… um, off-guard.”

“Do you not want to share?” Mrs. Griffin looks even more confused. “I’m sorry. Most couples love telling that story—”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Lincoln says, clearing his throat. “Well, we’re actually… not together.”

“We’re just friends,” Octavia adds.

One of the guests coughs a laugh down the table and Lincoln hears Raven, who’s three seats away from Mr. Kane, whisper _holy shit_. Mrs. Griffin blanches as she stammers out an apology. “Aurora suspected when she saw Octavia’s necklace, and usually I don’t believe her, but… I’m so sorry. The way you two act around each other, I thought—”

“No apology needed, Mrs. Griffin,” Lincoln says—at the same time, Octavia blurts, “And how do we act around each other, Abby?”

“I’ve said too much.” Mrs. Griffin looks mortified. “I’m so sorry, Lincoln, Octavia.”

They move on to safer topics, like Lincoln’s major and how Octavia’s plot of land in the college garden is going. Octavia never quite recovers enough to resume her easygoing social butterfly habits, and more than once, Lincoln catches her stealing glances at him. Every time, she brushes it off with a smile, but her glances leave a strange warmth in his chest he can’t shake.

After dinner, there’s more dancing and more alcohol, and eventually Bellamy and Clarke cut the cake. Cutting the cake is the signal that the guests could go home, but Lincoln stays and chats with Wells and two guys named Monty and Miller. Eventually they, too, leave, and the DJ begins to ease into the slower songs.

Octavia finds him when things are winding down. At least half the guests have already left, and Raven just said her goodbyes to everyone. Lincoln watches Raven zip up her coat and tease Finn for flirting with some of Clarke’s friends, and then they, too, are out the door. Octavia pulls him out of it with a single touch of her hand on his arm. “Ready to call it a night?” she asked, voice quiet. “It’s almost seven.”

Lincoln looks back at the dance floor. A new slow [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?t=17&v=OrqOS00a9_0) starts with soft guitar strums. “I haven’t danced at all tonight,” he realizes, and something makes him look at Octavia. “Want to dance?”

Octavia’s eyes crinkle in the corners as she smiles. He leads her onto the dance floor and rests his hand at her waist, and she entwines her fingers through his. Neither of them is particularly good at dancing, and so they are content to just sway in place. Octavia rests her head on his chest and sighs. “You must be beat,” Lincoln teases. Octavia pinches his shoulder in response.

“I’ve just been thinking,” she replies.

“Uh oh. That never ends well.”

“Shut up.” She looks up and smiles. Then she lowers her head again, and all he can see is the dark mass of her hair. She smells like fresh rain, apples, and vanilla. Lincoln closes his eyes and tilts his head back, listening to the music. _Darling, I was made for you_ , the singer croons, and Lincoln almost rolls his eyes.

“What do you think Abby was talking about? The way we act around each other?”

“Honestly?” Lincoln pauses. Octavia stills and looks up, her hand in his tightening. Lincoln grins down at her. “I think she saw you chasing me with a pillow across campus because I dared take one of your fries.”

The change in her is immediate. She furrows her brow, lips parted and blue eyes indignant. “I’m gonna—that was _one time_! I’ve gotten way better at sharing my fries. Didn’t I feed you in Ireland that one time?”

Lincoln can’t resist tilting his head pack as he laughs. “Of course! How could I forget the potato fries from McDonald’s? They were _such_ a welcome change from the potato soup, the mashed potatoes, the—”

“Excuse you, there were _carrots_ in that soup too. _And_ chicken broth.”

They grin at each other. At some point, while the song had played, they had stopped dancing. _Darling, I was made for you_ repeats one last time. The music fades out with a final guitar strum, and soon, it’s replaced by another song. Octavia lowers her gaze.

“Time to go study,” she says, pulling away from him.

* * *

It’s dusk when he finally drops her off at the sorority house. “So,” she begins, unstrapping. “That was awkward, huh.”

“Understatement of the century,” he replies, turning off the car.

“You’re not mad, are you?” she asks. Her voice is small, and he turns to her, incredulous.

“Mad at you for something your mom did? No. I’d say it was an innocent mistake, but… it wasn’t like you were wearing a ring or anything. On your finger, I mean.” He shrugs his shoulders, suddenly uncomfortable. Jesus, this is _Octavia_. Talking to her is as easy as breathing. A mix-up shouldn’t have him so—so…

“I’m sorry she did that,” Octavia says, interrupting his thoughts. “I’ll find some way to repay you, I promise.”

“How about you buy me coffee during finals week?”

“Come on, I’m poor, go easy on me.” Octavia smacks his arm and flashes him a smile. Lincoln laughs and leans his head against the headrest. There it is—they’ve settled back into their old routine, all discomfort gone, or, at least, momentarily forgotten.

Octavia is quiet. She hasn’t left the car yet. Lincoln turns his head, a question ready, but Octavia stops him by leaning forward and pressing her lips to his. He stiffens, and Octavia senses that immediately. She breaks the kiss. “Shit,” she swears under her breath. She pulls away and turns toward the car door. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“Octavia—” he starts, but she ignores him. She opens the door and gets out, still swearing. Lincoln stares after her—he can still taste her lipstick and fruity margarita, damn it—and spots the clutch still left on her seat. Cursing under his breath, he grabs the clutch and gets out of the car. “Octavia, _wait._ ”

She turns around, her hand on the doorknob. “You left your clutch,” he tells her.

She takes it and looks at him, face soft and eyes brighter in the pale porch light. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. It’s the first time he has ever seen her unconfident. “I…”

She licks her lips, looking like she’s about to say something else, but Lincoln stops her by cupping her elbow. “I’m not,” he says. He traces her face with his free hand and, before he can stop himself, leans forward to kiss her. The kiss is almost nothing, just a bare whisper of brushing lips, but it sets his nerves on fire because he’s never been so _close_ to her.

Octavia tosses her clutch aside and pulls him closer, deepening the kiss. One hand rests on his shoulder and the other wraps around the back of his neck. She tilts her head and, when he licks her bottom lip, her fingers curl into his jacket and she _whimpers_. God help him, but if she makes that noise again—he forces himself to pull away.

Octavia half-follows him, making a small, needy noise that sends heat through his belly. The next moment, she catches herself and stops, watching him with half-hooded eyes. Her lips are swollen, her eyes brighter, and he thinks— _you’re so beautiful._

He almost kisses her again.

Almost.

Lincoln clears his throat and adjusts his suit, taking a step away from her. “I forgot to walk you to the door. It’s what a respectable medical student with worthy aspirations would do.” He picks up her discarded clutch and hands it to her.

Octavia takes it and makes sure their fingers brush. She tucks it under her arm and says, “And what would a starving artist from Brooklyn who just kissed me do?”

“Go study for his finals.” He winks at her when she wrinkles her nose at him. “And hope you remember the kiss in the morning.”

Octavia smirks. “Remember what? Was that even a kiss? I’d try again if I were you.”

The blatant challenge in her voice is tempting. Lincoln knows he shouldn’t rise to the bait.

But she’s always been able to talk him into doing anything.


End file.
